All Shall Fade
by AboveReality
Summary: With the world laying at their feet, they looked ahead the many paths that could be tread. One day everything would fade, but not this day. This day they would fight. A story of horror, betrayel and kinship found where one wouldn't expect it to be. Combined movie&book lore.
1. Chapter 01: The Tenth Member

**This is a rewrite from a story that I once published here but wasn't content with. I will do my best to get the lore straight, but forgive my ignorance. Expect a mix of book and movie lore. By the way, English isn't my mother language, so forgive any grammatical errors. I am doing my best, but can't do more than that.**

**Everything in an other language (Elvish mostly) will be probably** _"Cursive"_ **and mentioned what type of language it is (you will see what I mean) because I HATE looking those stuff up and just don't get it really unless you guys can give me some decent website.**

**Anyway's, I hope you like it.**

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_'Home is behind  
The world ahead,  
There are many paths to tread._

_Through shadow_  
_To the edge of night, Until the stars are all alight._

_Mist and shadow,_  
_Cloud and shade,_  
_All shall fade._

_All shall fade' – Billy Boyd_

Chapter 01: The Tenth Member

Far to the east of Middle-Earth there was a hole. Not a murky, filthy hole, no. This was a hobbit hole and that meant hospitality and good food! But we are not going to talk about a hole in the luscious land of the Shire, since that time has passed. We are going to take a look at a certain woman, whose feet carried her south from the frozen wastelands of Forodwaith high up in the north and beyond the icy Mountains of Angmar.

The woman was dressed in light armour, the type that you expected a ranger to wear. It was made out of tight, thick and dark leather. Complete with braziers, fingerless gloves and a thick dark mantel with a hood hiding her face from prying eyes and where often whispers of hair escaped from underneath. The only visible sign that she came from the high north were that several pieces of her attire were lined with a greyish fur, identical to that of a mighty dire wolf that dwelled in that harsh, unforgiving environment.

Her stride, as she walked under the golden trees of Rivendell, was strong and confident. Like she feared no man or beast. The two curved short-swords, strapped on her back, held the faint traces of use and was still stained with unwashed blood. It emphasized the point that looks could be deceiving.

She walked onto the small bridge that carried her above a small, rapidly flowing stream. Elven guards slightly tensed up as she walked by, paying no heed to the golden coloured sky and gorgeous Elven architecture. Suspicious glances were thrown at her back and unvoiced questions hung in the air when she let her feet carry her up to the staircases. Guided by a strong sense of hearing.

"Miss, you are not allowed to enter. Lord Elrond is in a meeting," suddenly an obnoxious elf spoke as he appeared out of nowhere and hindered her way forward.

His chocolate coloured eyes reminded the woman that of a deer; big and innocent, but yet alert and aware of every breath she took and every tiny movement her body made. Slowly, she straightened her back and glanced at him from underneath the brim of her hood. A sharp, ominous gust of wind played with the leaves of the golden trees and her mantle when her lips twirled in a small smirk that made the legs of the Elf shake.

"_Your name Lindir, isn't it? The lackey of Elrond.._" her voice chuckled softly in Elvish, an accent curling around every word. _"I know that the Lord is in a meeting; for I am supposed to attend it. Now, I am sure you have other duties than to stop me from attending the meeting to which I am already late. Good day."_

The woman had simply nodded at the Elf, whose arguments of not letting her in disappeared like a vaporizing cloud in front of the sun. He swallowed thickly and stepped aside, allowing walk pass him and continue the way up. His eyes trailed the mysterious lady as he swallowed down the nauseous sensation that was coiling in his stomach, the image of an ice coloured pair of eyes burning holes in his very mind.

Lindir collapsed against a pillar when she reached the end of the staircase and disappeared out of view. He let out the shaky breath he wasn't aware that he was holding. The ominous and dark winds that had been playing with the trees slowly disappeared and the birds once again fluttered around and about like nothing had happened.

The chocolate eyes of the Elf shot up to the top of the staircase that bore no trace of the woman anymore and will never again.

Ahead at the other side of Rivendell, Elrond's council and meeting had already begun. The grand elf had stood up and glanced around the circle of many races and alliances. His voice was firm and strong as he spoke; filled with authority and wisdom.

"Strangers of distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." The eyes of the tall Lord of Imladris, the Last Homely House glanced over each face that joined their full circle. The Humans and Dwarves almost looked out of place between all these Elves with the afternoon sun shining on their backs.

"We stand at the brink of war. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate- this_ one _doom," Elrond's boomed at the circle that held many cultures, beliefs and opinions. His eyes settled on the smallest member ; a dark- curly haired hobbit by the name of Frodo Baggings. The Hobbit who inherited the ring from his uncle Bilbo and the one that was doomed to be burdened with it.

The words, "Bring forth the ring, Frodo," caused the Hobbit startle and swallow thickly. His blue eyes gazed around the whispering members of the council, some young and entranced, but most of them old, grey and filled with scepticism as he hesitantly walked towards the stone altar with the ring heavy in the pocket of his vest.

He felt a longing rising up from the depths of his heart the moment his fingers reached into his pocket and touched the cool metal of the simple object that was the source of so much evil and so much misery throughout the ages. His eyes couldn't tear away from it when he outstretched is hand and laid the golden Ring of Power on the stone altar. Frodo let out a shaky breath when he finally sat back down in his chair, earning a look of approval from his friend, the wizard Gandalf, who was seated next to him.

For a moment it was silent as every being examined the simple piece of jewellery lying there on the stone altar in the middle. A simple mind would curse everyone as insane and idiotic for thinking that a simple golden ring was the driving force of great evil in this world, alas it was true. Even Frodo still couldn't fathom it and he experienced first-hand of how _dangerous _this ring was when he was chased by the Ring wraiths. Despite this simple golden object; everyone felt the dark power it radiated and gently pulled at the strings of their minds.

"So it is true," a deep whisper cut through the silence of the council.

It originated from a man whose hair was ginger and sported a short, rough beard. The man took a deep breath and stood up after scratching his rough chin with a brown gloved hand, pulling the attention from the ring towards him. He was tall and proud. Wore chainmail, with a dark red cuirass on top of it that was decorated with small stars made out of gold-like threat. Over that he wore a thick dark blue, leather vest and a strong belt –that held his sword- around his waist. His physique was strong, even handsome in some eyes, and showed off his Númenórean ancestry. It was the physique of a wealthy warrior who was well fed and well equipped for battle and respected throughout his country of Gondor and by the neighbouring realm of Rohan.

"In a dream," he croaked with a deep, but soft voice as his eyes glanced around the council whilst his feet slowly carried him to the alter. "I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west pale light lingered." The man scratched his brow and felt his eyes pull back at the Ring lying there on the table, waiting for his fingers to enclose around it..

"A voice was crying; your doom is near at hand," the ginger haired man mumbled to himself as his grey eyes were fixated on the stone altar. "Isildur's bane is found," he whispered.

For a short moment Elrond and Gandalf traded stern glances. Slowly the man stretched out his arm and hand as dark, seducing voices whispered in the Man's ears. His eyes widened as words "Isildur's bane," rolled over his thin lips like an enchantment.

Elrond flung up from his seat and barked "Boromir!" but at the same time Gandalf followed his example. Instead of keeping Boromir from touching the One Ring, a dark language spilled out of the wizard's mouth that caused the sky to rumble and darken, the elves hold their pointed ears in disgust and agony -because the Language of Mordor was foul to their sense of hearing- and the rest of the council members to look up frightened and wonder what was heck was going on.

"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!" The wizard had chanted and for a moment Frodo could see the Elven inscriptions of the Ring light up in the same fire he had seen in Bag End when Gandalf had tossed it in the fire place. Boromir had instantly backed away when the wizard advanced at him and slowly sat down back at his chair.

When the foul words stop spilling out of Gandalf's mouth the sky instantly cleared, the rumbling stopped and the flaming inscriptions of the Ring seized to be. Elrond shot the Mithrandir a venomous glance.

"Never before has any voice said the words of that tongue here in Imladris."

Drained of energy the wizard spoke again, but now in his deep and kind voice that Frodo remembered. "I do not ask your pardon, master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The Ring is all together; evil."

"It's a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor-!" Boromir spoke once again and stood up from his seat. But before he could continue his speech the sound of hands colliding against each other silenced any thought and voice. A soft feminine chuckled pulled the attention to a hooded figure that had entered the circle.

The Elves shared suspicious glances and whispered with each other as their hands slowly slid to their sheathed weapons for they had not heard this stranger approaching them, which was highly unusual for Elves. The cloaked figure was definitely a human female, judging by the proportions, and seemed to radiate confidence. Elrond's sharp eyebrows rose all together, causing his forehead to wrinkle.

"The Ring is not a gift, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward-prince of Gondor. It is a tool of destruction and will always be that way. It cannot be turned into something else, no matter how much you wish it to be."

The voice that echoed from beneath the hood of the woman was soft and pleasant, but different that the voices of Elves. The words that rolled over her lips seemed to seep into Frodo's mind like she was whispering in his very own ears as clear as glass, but her attention was fixated on ginger-haired Boromir and not on the Hobbit.

"And who are you, _my lady_, to possess such knowledge?" The man _asked_ in a rather forceful tone.

"This is Maeve, daughter of the north and here to aid us. She is also a friend with considerable knowledge, and- "

"- Inexplicably late. Why is that?" Elrond finished Gandalf's sentence. An eyebrow curved upwards in a questioning manner.

The woman pulled back the hood of her mantle, revealing her being and shook her hair out of her face. It was a deep, intense black and held a soft blue hue in the faint light of the evening sun. The thick tresses were pulled together in a singular braid except for some whispers of hair that failed to be tamed and her fringe that hid her forehead and ended just above the brow.

"I am sorry Lord Elrond, but I was delayed. The Crebain were flying around and about in search for the Ring. I dared not to move faster in order to prevent detection. Forgive me," She bowed at the lord of Imladris.

Her skin was pale, smudged and dirty from the long track and was overall smooth except for a distinctive claw mark on the left side of her face that showed a little feistiness on her part. With ice-coloured eyes she glanced around the circle of Men, Elves and Dwarfs, a smile curving up the woman's thin lips.

"I see. You are forgiven, take a seat."

With a nod, Maeve turned on her heels and walked to the empty seat next to Gandalf with the calculated muscle coordination of a trained warrior. She promptly sat down and crossed one leg over the other with her swords laying at her feet. Always within reach of her quick hands.

"The lady speaks truthful. Gondor can't wield it, none of us can. The Ring answers only to Sauron and has no other master," a man spoke, different than Boromir. It appeared that he was one of the wilds; judging by his slightly matted dark brown hair, and overall rugged appearance (despite the fact that he had bathed and dressed properly for the meeting) . A true wanderer at heart with a lot of wisdom hiding behind watchful grey eyes.

The man of Gondor pulled up his nose when the other spoke with a soft and clear voice that held a natural authority. "And what.. would a ranger know of this matter?" He asked _again_ in a forceful and accusing matter.

"This is no mere ranger," A young elf called and stood up with a defying posture. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

A pause.

"Aragorn? This.. is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," Legolas added. This made a few people whisper to each other feverishly, shooting the ranger suspicious glances in the meantime who clenched his jaw displeased at this sudden discovery of his heritage.

"_Sit down, Legolas,_" he muttered to the prince of Mirkwood in Elvish, who stood for a few seconds longer after complying to the words of his good friend.

Boromir scoffed, his voice strained as he spoke and sitting down either. "Gondor _has _no king. Gondor _needs_ no king."

The meeting continued almost undisturbed aside from the both curious and suspicious glances that were thrown in the visitor's direction. It was evident that the Ring was truly the One Ring when Gimli, son of Gloin, broken his axe in an attempt to destroy it in an impulsive move. Elrond explained that it had to be casted in Mount Doom, where it was forged, in order to destroy it. A suicide run, but a run that had to be made or everything was lost.

A little overdramatic, but true.

Elves jumped up, Dwarves roared and Men waved their arms frantically whilst everyone screamed bloody murder. Chaos filled the council room and the One Ring seemed to revel in it. Gandalf strayed away from his seat and tried to calm people down as Maeve remained seated, watching how emotions erupted like a volcano over a single inanimate object.

Curiously she glanced in the direction of Frodo; who was fixated on the Ring on the altar. A hand on his forehead and breathing in sharply through his nostrils. He felt it calling out, longing to be held by someone, anyone. Finally, the Hobbit could take no more and stood up -unable to control himself- and cried out.

"I will take it!" His shrill voice had called and somehow reached into the ears of those who screamed murder at each other.

"I will take the Ring!"

There was silence when the eyes of old, withered men, battle-hardened dwarves and wise elves downed upon the little Hobbit from the Shire. Frodo swallowed a couple of times at this kind of intense and unwanted attention before his eyes focused on his hairy feet almost shameful of his outburst.

"Though I do not know the way.."

Gandalf let out some of his withheld breath and walked towards the little Hobbit. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggings. As long as it is yours to bear," he said as he laid his large hands on Frodo's shoulders and squeezed softly but reassuringly.

Immediately, Aragorn was by Gandalf's side. His physique was almost lean compared to the large Boromir, but Maeve could spot that he enjoyed years of training in expert marksmanship and melee by how the man moved and kneeled down in front of the little Hobbit.

"If by my life or death, I can protect you. I will." The voice of the man was slightly hoarse, deep, but firm. "You have my sword." He had whispered before standing up and behind Frodo with a hand on the Hobbit's tiny shoulders.

Legolas, the Elf with majestic blue eyes, emerged amidst the members of the council. "And you have my bow," he spoke with a voice similar to the ringing of bells.

The Dwarf Gimli who had his axe broken on the Ring also jumped up. His fiery red beard furrowed as he nodded fiercely at the Hobbit and grabbed another axe. "And my axe!" This earned a disapproving glance from Legolas. Awkwardly the two stood together next to the wizard's side, who winked approvingly –and a bit amused- to a seemingly surprised Elrond, when Boromir, son of Denethor hesitantly walked towards them and fixated on the Hobbit after sparing you a quick, uncomfortable glance.

"You carry the fate of us all little one. If this is indeed the will of the council," he said with a slight hint of disapproval, "then Gondor will see it done."

Suddenly out of the blue, and to the surprise of everyone, three Hobbits emerged with the argument that would not leave their friend behind on a mad quest without their help and 'wisdom'. According to the Hobbit named Pippin that is. Elrond took in a deep breath and his nostrils slightly flared in approval.

"Nine companions.. I would say that this is sufficient, but you will need an expert with you to avoid the numerous hidden allies of Sauron. Maeve," Elrond said and the visitor stood up at the utter of her name, "can aid you with that."

"Indeed I can," she affirmed and kneeled down in front of Frodo who felt the content feeling of companionship and trust seep into his very heart. "My swords, skills and my knowledge are at your disposal Mr. Frodo Baggins. Together, we will succeed."

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**Review please!**


	2. Chapter 02: Getting Acquianted

**Some background info of our little friend here. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 02: Getting Acquainted  


"So you're a woman? And you fight?"

It had been a beautiful, quiet morning when the Fellowship had departed from the Imladris valley with a single pony to carry most of their provisions that consisted mostly out of a lot of food, blankets, spare clothes and armour, some other handy tools like a needle and thread and a few spare ropes of different lengths. Just in case.

"I have been all my life. It isn't uncustomary for our women to bear arms, unlike here."

Alas, this beautiful and peaceful morning that coloured the sky in gorgeous pastels was crudely interrupted by the merry, chirping voice of a particular annoying Hobbit who just wanted to know everything and anything about a person in a matter of minutes. That particular annoying Hobbit sported some bright ginger curls on top of his head and was the smallest of the four.

"Why?"

The sound of a hand being slammed on a forehead resonated through almost the silent Fellowship. It had been roughly the twentieth time the hobbit asked 'Why?' on matters that weren't worth to pursue further. An audible feminine groan of annoyance made it obvious that the patience of the victim under Pippin's scrutiny of unending questions was wearing a little thin.

"Pippin, enough. Stop pestering lady Maeve," Gandalf said, ending the banter with his word and his stern old eyes that held a small twinkle of amusement. He earned a thankful nod from Maeve.

Frodo experienced that this Fellowship was a lot better than journeying alone or with his three fellow Hobbit friends. He was surrounded with people who knew what they were doing. People who could fight, knew these lands and whom he could trust. It made him feel safe, but also insecure deep in his own heart. He knew nothing of sword-fighting, tracking, foraging or the world. What difference could _he_ make in this war?

Grey clouds started to block away the sun and the threat of rain was dawning upon the Fellowship, but they did not stop for a break or take shelter against the weather. Finally when darkness was upon them, Gandalf decided to set up camp against a boulder deep in the dark wilderness that provided them some shelter against the never-ending onslaught of the rain. The decision earned sighs of relief from the Hobbits –despite the bad weather- whose poor foot soles had grown sore and painful from the large amount of walking that they just weren't used to!

After they made a make-shift tent-like contraption that kept most of the rain at bay; Frodo, Sam, Pippin and Merry dropped themselves on their buttocks and refused to move any further. Aragorn carefully made a small fire that was emitting some light and heat to warm up their cold and wet bodies and not only lit up their enviroment but also their minds. Soon, skinned rabbits were hanging above the fire and boy, how they would fill their stomachs..

Finally the storm clouds had emptied themselves on the land and disappeared; allowing the stars to come out and twinkle away. Frodo was lying on his back on his bedroll, staring up at the light display above him through the make-shift tent whilst the crescent moon shone its pale and silvery light on the landscape below it; turning everything in an greyish hue that reminded hobbit a lot like the ghost world the times he had actually worn the Ring.

The Ring.

It appeared to heavier than he could remember, or were his memories false? The hobbit propped himself on one shoulder and took a quick glance around the camp whilst he thoughts were partially occupied by the piece of jewellery around his neck. Legolas was helping Aragorn with the remaining fur of the rabbits, but they were softly conversing to each other in Elvish, a language that Frodo failed to understand much to his disappointment.

Gimli was fascinating Merry and Pippin with a wild tale about a hobbit like themselves and a battle with three monstrous trolls. Gandalf participated the small banter and leaned back comfortably against the rockface; smoking a pipe with his grey eyes slightly clouded as he was consumed by past memories.

Boromir was sitting with Sam, letting the hobbit observe his sword and take a swing every now and then. Frodo was moved by how Sam had pledged himself to him as his guardian and friend. Normally, Sam wouldn't even _think _about holding any kind of weapon, but this quest made the gardener think and wonder if at least some knowledge could be useful. Boromir also seemed kind and willing to teach him and probably also the other hobbits, so why not?

The blue eyes of the dark-haired Shire inhabitant finally slid to the woman that he now knew for almost precisely one day. The fire casted a range of eerie shadows on her face, sharpening her features. With an absent look in her eyes she stroked a strand of her black hair behind her ear, her fingertips brushing against the scar that marred the left side of her face.

The Hobbit couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking about. Home? The future? Past times? He could merely guess. Almost no one knew a thing about her, except for Gandalf. But the wizard wasn't known for sharing his thoughts and experiences with others. Frodo was rudely pulled out of his daydream when Maeve suddenly straightened her back and looked up at the one that dared to interrupt her thoughts by looming over her.

"Stew?"

In front of Maeve, Boromir stood. Holding up a steaming bowl of rabbit stew where a delicious smell was emanating from. There was an amused twinkle in his eyes, when his ears picked up the rumbling of her hungry stomach and pushed the bowl in her hands before sitting down next to her on the moist grass with a bowl of his own in his hands.

"Thank you, Gondorian," she said and closed her lips around the wooden spoon, slurping as she gladly ladled out the bowl's contents. The man simply nodded and they shared dinner in mutual silence and contentment.

Frodo was unaware of Sam sitting down next to him until a similar bowl of hot stew was pressed into his lithe hands. "Mysterious isn't she? I wonder who she is," the gardener thought out loud whilst chewing on a piece of rabbit meat. Frodo didn't reply and ate his stew in silence. "You know? This is really _good_.."

"I have been wondering, milady," Boromir finally said as he stared in the fire in front of them. Twirling the now empty bowl in his large, calloused hands. Maeve could only huff at this and met his eyes in a brief glance before she also shared his stare-off with the dancing flames. It appeared that the nobleman decided that she was worth a conversation.

"Do share."

"You said that women also carry arms in your lands. They said you are from the North, but not somewhere specific. From where do you hail?"

A sigh rolled over Maeve's lips as the question that had been asked many, many times was once again thrown in her face. "I am from the north and that's it. You may not be satisfied with this answer, Gondorian," she quickly said before Boromir could interrupt her, "but more than this I cannot give, because there simply just isn't more. "

"Is your land destroyed?"

"No, it isn't," she sighed. This was like talking to Pippin all over again. Placing down her empty bowl and spoon in the wet grass. "Do you know what Forodwaith means?"

"Indulge me."

"It's Sindarin for Northern Waste. Its name it's description." a deep voice said before Maeve could even answer Boromir. She and Boromir looked up only to meet the grey eyes of Aragorn. He took a seat near them at the fire, and Maeve realized that everyone had seated themselves, like Aragorn, around or near the fire and listened at her words.

"It either survive or die with no middle-ground. Now, if I am excused I'm going to scout the area. Being killed in my sleep isn't exactly on mine to do list," she muttered and stood up.

Frodo finally finished up the stew with a slightly raw tongue, because his senses had barely recorded that it was scorching hot as he had focused on listening to the conversation of Maeve and Boromir. He watched her get up and leave, not sparing any other member of the Fellowship a single glance before she disappeared in the darkness of night.

"Women," Boromir sighed and poked with a stick at the fire.

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Review please!**


	3. Chapter 03: Warning Signs

**Sorry for the short delay! I'm not really sure where to go with Maeve yet, but am pretty satisfied with this chapter.**

**Remember; English isn't my mother language. So I apologize for errors in advance. I appreciate some constructive criticism.  
**

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Chapter 03: Warning Signs

Frodo felt himself finally relax a bit.

There was nice, cool wind gently playing with his dark curls indicating that autumn was near. The sky was a pale grey, the type that made his eyes water as he looked at the sky long enough, but not gloomy. The company was resting on a small clearing amidst some large boulders that held a nice view over the mountainous terrain that they had been climbing for several days now, but still gave them some cover if anything should happen. If the Fellowship was lucky, the Gap of Rohan was still accessible. From there, their road would turn east through the lands of Rohan and Gondor, towards Mordor.

Sam plumbed down next to Frodo, handing him something to eat whilst Boromir was giving Merry and Pippin some handy swordsmanship training; something Sam and Frodo kindly turned away this time, but enjoyed to watch.

"Two, one, five. Good! Very good!" The deep voice of Boromir echoed through the air, joined by the sound of steel hitting steel as the man was sparring with Pippin, who was quite the quick learner much to Gandalf's surprise and amusement. It appeared that Pippin wasn't the fool at all.

Aragorn sat on a small rock near the small clearing that was used as a sparring ground and kept a watchful eye on the hobbits and gave instructions such as 'Move your feet!' and 'Keep your eyes up!' to keep the Halflings sharp whilst he enjoyed his pipe.

"You look good Pippin!" Merry piped in, nibbling on a chunk of bread. One could see Pippin's eyes light up at the compliment and nod at his friend as he wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to control his laboured breathing.

"Thanks," the Took replied and handed a spare sword to the hobbit. "Now it's your turn!"

Boromir's lips pulled back in a mirthful grin and twirled his own blade a few times in his hand, flexing his wrists. "Alright, Mr. Brandybuck. Let's see if you can do it faster!" The words hadn't even finished rolling from the man's lips when Merry struck out, taking Boromir by surprise and making him roar with laughter.

"Very good! Now faster! Try to match me!"

The speed increased, but Merry seemed to keep up surprisingly enough. Behind the cheering Frodo and Sam, Gimli was complaining to Gandalf why they wouldn't go to Moria and visit his cousin Balin, who would probably heart-warmingly welcome them, whilst Legolas was staring off in the distance with his sharp Elven eyes.

"Now master dwarf, I would only go to Moria if I had no other choice," the old wizard said and effectively putting a stop to the string of arguments that Gimli conjured in his futile attempt to convince him. The wizard was right; dark things lured in the belly of the mountain. Dark things that even the most experienced adventurer didn't dare to disturb.

Maeve was seated at the other side of the sparring ground with her elbows leaning relaxed on her knees and giving useful tips to Merry such as 'Watch his eyes to anticipate his next move,' and complementing him on his quick footwork a few times.

Suddenly, Boromir's blade prodded Merry's hand when the hobbit made a tiny mistake of stepping too much to his left. The hobbit yelped in pain, releasing his sword and held his throbbing hand a bit more dramatic than it was necessary. Boromir instantly let his guard down and gasped; "Sorry! Are you alright?"

The Hobbits instantly seized their chance and jumped against Boromir that sent the man flying on the ground in a wrestling match whilst yelling 'Yeah!' and 'For the Shire!'. Maeve couldn't help but to laugh at the amusing sight before her, her voice sweet once more and not showing any trace of the bitterness it had contained almost a week ago. After that night, no one spoke about her homeland again, for it seemed to be a subject that she did not like talking about and thus it was dropped, but not forgotten in some minds.

"How the mighty have fallen! Well done, Boromir of Gondor!"

Gentle, teasing sarcasm drenched her voice. Causing Boromir to laugh as he rose on his feet and wiped the dust from his thick leather vest and cuirass. A ginger eyebrow cocked in amusement when he took a few steps closer and words rolled over his thin lips.

"Oh? And you think that you could best me, dear lady Maeve?"

"You damn right, I can."

The comment gained some encouraging shouts from Merry, Pippin, Sam and Frodo, who were all eager to finally see some real life action! They watched how Maeve's lips curled a bit upwards as Boromir was already overestimating her, for he had not seen how careful she planted each foot on the ground with a gracefulness and control that one gained from years of experience. Aragorn leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. This could be interesting.

Even though she was female and lean; she was muscular and quite strong for a woman. Not only physically but also mentally. One needed to be strong where she came from, for the weak in mind and body would not survive the unforgiving North. Maeve took a few swings with her slightly curved dual swords, to loosen up her wrists and the joints in her arms and cracked her neck a bit.

The ranger played with the pipe that was tightly between his lips, as he watched her lips pull back in a toothy grin when Boromir swung his sword a couple of times to warm up a bit. She was ready and eager.

"Are you sure you want to take her head on without a shield, Boromir? She seems tough," Aragorn called with amusement clearly wrapped around his rough voice. With a fluid motion the man tossed the uniquely shaped shield towards Boromir, who easily caught it and strapped it on his arm.

"Thank you for the suggestion, but I don't think I would need it a lot," he boasted when his grey eyes settled on the woman before him, who thought that he was being bold and prejudiced and had silently decided to kick some Gondorian ass.. If it weren't for Sam's voice interrupting them.

"What is that..?" The hobbit muttered softly and stood up on the boulder he had been seated upon.

"Nothing, just a whisper of clouds," Gimli grunted.

Boromir's eyes narrowed against the sharp, grey sky as he looked in the distance. Way up ahead, the fellowship could faintly see a dark cloud moving in the sky. It was odd, because it was moving way faster than the wind and in opposite direction.

"These are not whispers of clouds," Maeve then whispered.

"It's Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas suddenly gasped.

"Hide!"

Instantly, she snatched the hobbits Merry and Pippin and pushed them underneath a boulder. "Quickly, under there and don't move nor make a sound," she hissed at them when the caws of the Crebain became audible as they soared in their direction.

"Come on!"

Maeve snatched Frodo's arm and pulled him along, jumping over the fire that Sam was desperately trying to smother with water and dirt grabbing some backpacks on the way. She and Frodo then dropped themselves on the ground near a boulder and a thick shrubbery that hid them from unwanted eyes in the sky.

The moment she let a breath escape her lips when she was settled next to Frodo in the cool sand, the Crebain flew over the campsite where the Fellowship had been just mere seconds ago. Their cawing was loud, and silencing any thought that lingered in the grey mass between everyone's ears. She could hear scared and laboured breathing originating from Frodo next to her. This was the first real threat the Fellowship encountered on their journey, and though it wasn't immediate, it would still bear some serious consequences if Frodo was discovered now. So with a firm nod she laid her hand on Frodo's shoulder and squeezed it, trying to reassure him that everything was fine.

Frodo felt the Ring pull at his mind as the Crebain circled around them. His vision swam for his eyes when dark whispers flooded his ears, seducing him. '_Put the ring on,_' they said. _'Or else they will see you,' _they cooed.

The moment he felt Maeve's hand touch his shoulder and squeeze it gently, the voices instantly fell silent and his eyes rushed to meet pale blue. Her eyes slid to down for a moment and then back to meet his once again. There was a pity in them, but also a fierceness and other emotions that the Hobbit couldn't place. The corner of her lips turned slightly upward in a small smile as she mouthed some words that made his mind and body relax. She then nodded at him and concentrated on the dangers above them with her hand still on his small shoulder.

The Hobbit looked down and blinked as he saw that he was holding the Ring tightly between his fingers, ready to be put on. He swallowed down the thick lump that had formed in his throat and quickly hid away the dangerous object beneath his clothing. Shuddering as the cool metal touched his flesh, but relaxed as he reminded himself of the words that Maeve had silently whispered to him.

'_Don't you worry Mr. Baggins. We'll protect you._'

Hundreds of ink-black birds circled the campsite. It felt like hours but was in reality just barely a minute when the Crebain decided to abandon the area and flew along, forever searching for any type clue of the Fellowship or things that could aide their master's cause.

"It must be safe now," Maeve had croaked beside Frodo with almost a hint of amusement in her voice. She crawled out of their hiding spot and took a quick look around before gesturing to the dark-haired hobbit that the coast was clear. "You okay?" She had asked. Frodo merely nodded in response.

Here and there, the heads of the fellowship popped out from underneath and behind boulders and from the thick shrubbery. The birds seemed to have moved on to other possible camping spots and slowly disappeared out of view. The whole Fellowship seemed sigh of relief in unity, but Gandalf took a deep breath and had a worried frown on his wrinkled face.

"Spies of Saruman," the wizard grunted a bit frustrated. "The passage to the south is being watched.. " The grey eyes of Gandalf settled on a disappointed Boromir, before looking up at the looming snow-covered mountain above them.

"Then we must take the Pass of Caradhras," Aragorn decided then, taking Gandalf's gaze as a hint to where they had to venture forth.

"No, we should not. It's too cold and barren for the Hobbits. There must be another way to Mordor," Maeve couldn't help but to voice her thoughts. She couldn't help but to feel a sense of dread every time she looked up at the looming mountains above them.

"We could always tried Moria-"

"I am sorry master Gimli, but as we discussed before I want to avoid the mines if possible." The wizard had spoken with a voice that didn't accept no for an answer. Was he really that desperate to test the Hobbit's resilience? Was this all kind of an experiment to him? His grey eyes then focused on her.

"I am sorry dear, but unless we suddenly grew wings and flew over the mountain there are no other options."

She looked at him with a calculating gaze as she tried to come up with alternatives, but discovered that there weren't any. Disappointment hit her and she exhaled; trying to release the tension in her shoulders. She needed to trust the wizard's judgement, but the worry that lingered in her gut made it almost feel unnatural for her to do so even though she had done it countless of times in the past. This time it just didn't feel right, but she surrendered.

"I.. yes. I see. Let us be off then, for the mountains aren't a place you can set up camp easily. The sooner we are past them, the better." With her final words the fellowship had decided: They would take the route up the treacherous mountain slopes and battle the icy air that circulated around its peak.

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	4. Chapter 04: Caradhras

**Sweet mother of god. I'm fucking alive! :D**

Short, crappy, but necessary. Things will get more interesting later on!

Remember: English isn't my motherlanguage! So some grammar mistakes can occur! 

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Chapter 04: Caradhras

Days swiftly passed as the Fellowship dared to climb higher and higher as the landscape slowly changed from the hills with patches of grass, to tundra and eventually snow covered valleys as the world beneath them seemed to shrink. The Fellowship walked across mountainous terrain filled with deadly ravines and steeps slopes where you could barely find a solid base to hold onto, let alone the pony Bill, yet nothing miraculously happened. Fate must have been kind to them that day.

On top of the mountains was an entire different world than everyone was used to. It was cold, blinding and empty, and only clouds seemed to be the mountains' only company since they have seen no animal of any kind at these heights.

Maeve inhaled with one step, sinking deep in the snow, and exhaled with another. A technique that even the youngest in her country had learned. It kept the level of oxygen in one's blood steady at large heights and prevented that one would pass out and possibly die. Either of hypothermia, falling from a cliff or blood clots that formed in one's veins because of the cold and reached their heart.

The Fellowship did not know about this, but they were fairing pretty well and marching on in a sloppy row like ants. Silently. Ignorance seemed to be a bliss, right?

Then, behind her, Maeve's ears picked up a grunt. Snow groaned underneath a sudden weight and groaned even more as that weight appeared to roll.. downhill. She turned, her sharp eyes taking in a small figure rolling down the slope.

"Frodo! Aragorn, catch him!"

The ranger crouched and caught the hobbit, stopping him from rolling down the mountain and probably to his death. Frodo didn't thank him for he was searching around feverishly, his small red fingers searching the snow in front of him after they skimmed his chest. _His chest where normally The Ring rested upon.  
_  
"The Ring! I've lost the Ring! It must be here somewhere!" He cried out, panic latching on his voice.__

Boromir walked past Maeve, slow and calculating despite he almost sank knee-deep in the snow with each step. The man crouched down and picked up something shiny from the snow. In that instant the panicky atmosphere turned into something tense. Like every breath meant something. Like even a twitch of an eye would sent someone over the edge.

"Boromir.."

Her voice was as clear as glass, but held a stern undertone in it yet it did not reach the man. Boromir took in the little object that was dangling in front of his eyes as the wind gently played with it. The silver chain tightly clutched in his large gloved hands. His breathing came out in puffs and misted the chain, but not The Ring. Never The Ring.

"It is a strange fate.." The man spoke, slow and absent-minded, ".. that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over such a small thing."

Something changed in Boromir's stormy eyes. They grew distant and his voice turned to a mere whisper. His hand other hand reached up, fingers outstretched like he wanted to caress that simple golden ring like he was its lover. Its most loyal and most humble servant.

"Such a little thing.."

"**BOROMIR!**"

A shout from Aragorn seemed to pull him out of his mind. His eyes were casted down to the snow and his grip on the Ring almost faltered as he stumbled slightly. Then they lit up again. Sparkles returning to their dark grey depths as he looked up and finally _saw_.

"Give the Ring to Frodo."

Maeve's eyes glued themselves on Boromir's back as he stumbled towards the pair downhill. She watched him almost throw the Ring in Frodo's lap, claiming that he did not desire it and casted it off as something stupid. Her pale blue eyes tore themselves from Boromir as he turned around and briskly walked passed her, and watched Aragorn slip his hand from the hilt of his sword.

~~

The trek to the summit of Caradhras was cruel and vicious. The wind tore at their cloaks revealing them to the onslaught of the blizzard that blinded and deafened them. The snow was now waist deep, too deep for the hobbits and thus Aragorn carried Frodo, Boromir Merry and Pippin and Maeve Sam with the pony trailing behind her.

Sam shuddered against her, his breath shivering as he clutched at her like she was his lifebuoy. One of her arms kept the hobbit in place and held Bill's reins whilst the other helped her plough through the thick snow.

"Sshh.. relax. Don't fight the cold and relax. It will be more bearable that way," Maeve gently hushed to the trembling Hobbit. Who listened at her soft voice and carefully relaxed himself, taking in her warmth that she radiated through her leather armour.

"Damn snow," Gimli grunted beside her. His once so fire-red beard was now white, like this forsaken hell-hole around them.

"I know.. Stick close. You won't be able to see the edge and it will be too late when you notice," Maeve hissed. Trying to keep her teeth from clattering. Was it her imagination or did the storm turned fiercer?

Beside the huddled Fellowship, Legolas walked on the snow. Barely leaving footprints as he walked past Gandalf and then paused, his elven eyes and ears seeing and hearing things that no one else could pick up.

"Something's wrong! Gandalf, there is a foul voice in the air!"

"It's _Saruman_!"

The mountain **roared**. Maeve could hear Sam's frightened breath hitched in his throat as a thunderous sound filled their ears. Tons of snow, ice and rock rolled down the hill, barely missing the company. Gimli gasped, pressing himself against the mountainside and away from the edge that was scraped off by debris inch by inch. Narrowing their path.

"Gandalf! He's trying to bring down the mountain! We must go back, quickly!" Maeve screamed.

But the wizard shook firmly his head. "NO!" He roared back and climbed on a heap of snow. The wind tore at his robes and beard, letting them surged around his form in a strange magical way. Gandalf took a deep breath and _spoke_.

Unidentified words rolled over his lips in a haunting matter. They echoed against the mountain and carried themselves far, further than any member of the Fellowship imagined and into Saruman's very ear.

The White Wizard smirked, baring his yellowed long teeth. _Gandalf the Grey_, dared to challenge him and his powers? The fool! Saruman laughed mockingly, then straightened his back and spread his arms. He let his own haunting words echo back towards the mountain that was at his very mercy.

Snow rained down upon the Fellowship and encased them like an icy tomb. For a moment it was silent on the mountain as if Caradhras himself held his breath in expectation. With a grunt an arm appeared from the snow, then another and another. The Fellowship dug themselves out from the snow. Several strings of curses were thrown here and there.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir groaned, his face red from the cold and his fingers numb. "Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!"

"Are you daft?! That will take us past Isengard and place us at the mercy of Saruman! Do you _want_ us to get caught?!"

"Well, do you have another idea?"

Frustrated at the retort, Maeve bit her tongue. She did not have another idea, but surely there must be another solution. Unless-

"We cannot pass over a mountain! Let us go under it!" The deep voice of Gimli bellowed. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria!"

Gandalf glanced at the Fellowship before him. He felt burdened with the decision that would affect their entire fate. The old wizard sighed. He was rarely manoeuvred in a leader-position for he enjoyed the role of an advisor, but now they depended on him.

"Gandalf?" The clear voice of Maeve rang in his ears. It shook him from his thoughts and made him exhale the breath he wasn't aware that he was holding.

"Let the Ring-Bearer decide."

The wizard instantly felt regret and guilt nipping at his soul. How dared he to let this crucial decision be in the hands of a Hobbit that had no idea of how the world worked and what evil lurked in the shadows. But it was fate, as the older and wiser part in Gandalf tried to justify.

"We will go through the mines. Like Gimli mentioned, his cousin will surely help us. It's our best shot."

Then it was decided. The company will retreat from the mountain and head to Moria. Gandalf couldn't help it, but his gut told him that something terrible was about to happen that would change all of them. For good and for bad.

He hoped that his gut feeling was wrong.

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